


Consequences

by Charm



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Implications, Extremely Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 07:17:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/619502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charm/pseuds/Charm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Why am I angry, Harry?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Pottercest Spanking Challenge, love to anise_anise for the beta.

A chill settled around them as James made his way around Harry’s room, carefully shutting each of the windows and drawing all of the curtains closed tight.

_Harry’s room was always bursting with light and life and sun; part of James hated to have to be the one to shut it all out._

“Dad?” Harry whispered, his voice crisp and clear in the cold of the room.

“Shh, not now Harry, keep quiet.” James shut the door and ignored the small whimper that passed through Harry’s lips. Sliding the bolt into place, he sighed quietly in relief when Harry remained silent and obedient.

Sitting down carefully on the bed, James finally relaxed a bit. He reached down and slid his fingers slowly through Harry's mess of soft hair, so like his own. Smoothing the tangled locks, he trailed his fingertips over Harry’s scalp and down the side of his face where the skin was so soft and warm it made James’s pulse slow down, thrum through his veins low and quiet.

His fingers traveled further yet and slipped across the skin of Harry’s throat, sweaty from summer and Quidditch and fear. James tilted Harry’s chin up gently and waited for the green eyes to focus on his face. Harry’s mouth was open and his warm breath puffed sweet and bitter onto James’s lips as he leaned down so that they were eye to eye.

“Why am I angry, Harry?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Harry admitted quietly, squirming a bit as James’s eyes bored into his own.

“Shh, yes you do Harry, yes you do. Now think, try hard to remember.”

Harry’s chin tried to drop to his chest, but James’s grasp did not waver and Harry was unable to look anywhere but into his father’s hazel eyes, so different from Harry's own.

Tiny, crystalline tears welled up in Harry’s eyes, glazing them over so that they sparkled in the dim light of the room, and James imagined he could see a glimmer of fight there.

“C’mon Harry, why am I angry?” James coaxed, tipping Harry’s chin up a bit further to expose the lovely expanse of golden skin that was his throat.

“Mum,” Harry croaked, his voice thick with the tears he was fighting back.

“I can’t hear you, Harry.”

“Mum.” Louder this time, more sure.

“That’s right, Harry. You know you’re not supposed to go into your mother’s room. Haven’t we had this discussion before?” James asked, eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

Harry couldn’t look at him anymore and only nodded in agreement, as much as he could with James’s iron grip on his chin.

“I’m sorry?” James tipped his ear towards Harry.

“Yes.”

“You must never go into that room, Harry. It has been locked since the day she died and I won’t have you in there messing about.”

“I wasn’t messing about, I only wanted to--,” Harry began but stopped when James’s eyes narrowed in displeasure.

“Will you go into the room again?” James asked softly.

“No. Never,” Harry whispered.

“Good. However, you still need to be punished. Your must learn that your actions have consequences, Harry.” He let go of Harry’s chin abruptly and stood. Harry’s eye widened to the size of saucers as James unbuckled his belt and began to pull it from the loops of his trousers.

“No!” Harry yelped and jumped forward, clamping his hands around his father’s arm. “Please no, not the belt, _please_!”

“I’m sorry Harry, but it has to be done. Believe me, this hurts me far more than it hurts you.”

“ _Please_ ,” Harry begged, his green eyes glinting in desperation, so like Lily’s.

_The green light that had always shone behind her eyes faded as James's grasp tightened ... 'Mine Lily, he is mine, and I won't let you take him away from me.’_

“Use you hands, please." Harry swallowed loud enough to be heard in the cold-quiet of the room. “I want to feel you,” he whispered, “ _Touch_ me.”

And James faltered, as he always did. Weakened, as only Harry, his Harry, could make him.

James fell back onto the bed, his back resting uncomfortably against the smooth planes of the wooden headboard. Harry crawled across his lap, all long limbs and golden, sun-kissed skin. He'd been naked before James had even stepped foot into his room, had seen that look in James’s eyes and knew what was to come.

Harry’s cock, young and already half-hard, pushed against the fabric of James’s trousers as James reached a hand down, caressing Harry from the base of his spine down to the bottoms of his thighs.

A tiny sigh of pleasure brushed past Harry’s lips and James lifted his hand, only to bring it back down immediately in a vicious slap to the smooth right cheek of Harry’s arse. Harry jumped, crying out, and tried to scramble away, pushing harshly against James’s legs.

“Stay still Harry, there are only 12 more. Be glad I’m not using the belt,” James ordered and pulled Harry back down on top of him, pinning him securely against him with one arm braced across his back.

Thirteen strokes. One for every year he had been alive. One for every year his father had had to discipline him.

The next one came down against his other cheek, marring the flesh with the same crimson welts as the other so that they bore twin imprints of James’s right hand. Harry cried out again and his flesh jumped as he fought the urge to run, to escape this room, this darkness, to escape James once and for all. But he stayed, bit his bottom lip red as the next strike landed across the tops of his thighs, a weak yelp escaping though his teeth.

The blows rained down one after the other and as the last one landed with a loud smack against Harry’s left arse cheek, Harry moaned and pushed his hips against his father’s thighs. Hard within the confines of his trousers, James pulled in a shuddered breath and trailed his fingers across the heated flesh of Harry’s backside. Harry’s moans grew louder, his movements against James a little more desperate.

Before he could stop himself, James grabbed Harry harshly by the wrists and threw him down on to his back, his hands crossed and pinned above his head. Harry whimpered and kicked his legs beneath James in an attempt to free himself.

“Have you learned your lesson today, Harry?” James asked, his voice just above a whisper.

Harry nodded weakly, tears beginning to skim across his cheekbones in hot rivulets as he met James’s eyes.

“Say it, Harry.”

“I’ve learned my lesson,” Harry breathed, tugging his wrists from James’s grasp.

“Good boy.” James’s breath was hot and wet as it blew across Harry’s lips before he smashed their lips together violently, forcing his tongue between Harry’s lips and into the damp heat of his mouth.

James moaned, loudly, and Harry began pulling his shirt from his shoulders and reached for the zip on his trousers, his hands moving smoothly, quickly, in practiced motions. James stood to let the trousers hit the floor and shoved his pants down and off, drinking in the sight that lay before him. Harry, spread out and waiting, his skin golden and pale all at once, so beautiful against the deep blue of the coverlet that had covered his bed for many years now. Harry’s chest rose in uneven breaths and if James looked close he could make out the tiniest tremor in his hands. Harry’s frightened green eyes met his with such trust that James could maintain his distance no longer.

Reaching into the drawer of Harry’s bedside table he withdrew the small pot of lubricant and slicked his fingers thoroughly. Harry lay back, his breathing still so uneven, so heated, and waited for James to proceed. His eyes squeezed together, bottom lip caught between two rows of lovely, sharp, white teeth. James’s fingers slid into him easily and Harry’s cock grew harder as he bit into his lip. James’s questing fingertips found that spot within him and it sent a jolt of pleasure to his own cock as Harry failed to hold back the cry that was ripped from his throat.

“Now, please,” Harry ground out, his voice low, so much lower than it normally was.

James didn’t hesitate; he slammed into Harry before either of them had the chance to take another breath, instantly surrounded in a tight channel of pure heat, a heat that he could never quite believe, could never get enough of.

Harry grunted deep in his throat and pushed himself back against James, trying to get him deeper, closer. Harry’s fingers twisted into the sheets, desperate to hold onto something, anything, as long as it wasn’t James, wasn’t his skin, his heat, his sweat.

James thrust into him hard, over and over, staring down at Harry. So wanton. His Harry. Back arched, lip red between his teeth, his mess of black hair, sweaty and fanned out against the fabric beneath him. He bent low to kiss him, pushing Harry’s mouth open with his tongue, tweaking a nipple roughly with one hand. Steadying himself with the other hand, his hips slammed forward against Harry’s so fast it was beginning to make him dizzy with arousal. Pleasure coiled through his veins and settled low in his stomach, creeping deliciously up through his balls.

His fingers skimmed down across Harry’s flesh and took hold of his cock, hard and red, in his grasp. He fisted it in long, rough strokes until Harry sounded like the life was being pulled out of him. Harry raised his hands to his own nipples, rubbing across them with the broomstick-calloused pads of his fingers, his sweat mingling with his father’s as it trickled off James’s collar bone. James pulled at Harry’s cock and angled his thrusts so that he brushed across that spot deep inside him on every stroke until Harry cried out, his voice desperate and cracking, “No!” and came messily across James’s hand and his own stomach.

James brought his hand up to his mouth and made careful work of licking every drop of Harry’s come from his fingers as Harry watched, eyes glazed over in spent pleasure, his body still but for the shaky breaths wracking through it every few seconds. His hand thoroughly cleaned, he braced his palms against the bed and pumped into Harry furiously, the boy sliding up the bed inch by inch with every thrust.

James looked down at him, the perfect combination of himself and Lily, the only good thing he had ever done in his life, and smiled. His legs trembled beneath him as Harry’s eyes, green as freshly cut grass and glowing like emeralds, blinked up at him. “I love you, Harry,” he choked out, and came hard, deep within his only child, the only person he had ever truly loved.

Harry’s gaze fell to the side, no longer able to look James in the eye as more tears than he would ever be able to shed burned behind his eyes. James collapsed on top of him in a boneless heap and rolled them both over so that Harry was held close against his chest, his head tucked neatly beneath James’s chin.

He waited until James fell asleep before climbing off of him carefully and curling up at the bottom of the bed, wrapping himself tightly in the sapphire blue bedspread his mother had picked out for him when he was seven. Just before... It was the only thing left in the house that reminded him of her. He curled up in the smooth, worn cotton as small as he could, shivering in the silent chill of the room, and waited for sleep to take him.

_Harry’s room had always been bursting with light and life and sun; every part of him hated that it had to be his father to shut it all out._


End file.
